In twilight halls where muses tread,
Where mortal dreams and myths are wed,
Two sisters danced on twin-toned strings—
One clothed in sorrow, one in springs.

Melpomene, with sable eyes,
Wore tragedy like twilight skies.
Her hands could sculpt the tear-streaked face,
And give despair a form, a grace.
She crowned her brow with wilted bloom,
And stitched her cloak from threads of gloom.
Yet in her gaze, a burning flame—
To name our grief and not feel shame.

Thalia, bright with laughter’s spell,
A jester’s grace, a chiming bell.
She painted joy in wide-eyed hues,
And danced in stories we would choose.
Her cheeks were kissed by endless plays,
Of love, of jest, of sunlit days.
She spun delight from broken things—
A cracked harp strung with golden strings.

They were not rivals, not quite foes,
But like the tide’s twin undertows—
Each pulling hearts toward different ends,
Yet meeting where the soul bends.

For every laugh hides some regret,
And every sob, a joy unmet.
In masks they wore—both grief and glee—
Lay mirrors of our frailty.

One whispers, “All must fade, must fall.”
The other cries, “But still, we call!”
And in that echo, bold and true,
We find the sacred in the blue.

So raise your glass to both their names—
To comedy, to tragic flames.
For what is life, if not the thread
That dances ‘twixt the living and the dead?

Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, sat in her shadowed prison, her posture rigid and defiant even in confinement. Silence had become her armor—she had not given her sister muses the satisfaction of hearing her voice since they cast her into this place. Her gaze remained steady and unyielding, yet her mind was alive with bitter memories and unanswered questions. Her voice, once powerful and haunting, now lay buried deep within, guarded as fiercely as her pride.

Thalia, the Muse of Comedy and Mischief, materialized beside her sister, her usual bright smile lighting up the shadowed space. Her radiant presence tempted to chase away the gloom, her laughter echoing in the air as she bounced lightly on her heels. Her shifting form embodied the joy and chaos she brought to the world.

“What’s this?” Thalia asked, her voice cheerful and brimming with energy as she took in the scene. She seemed almost oblivious to the prison around them, her eyes scanning the room with exaggerated curiosity. “A little bit of solitude and gloom? Not quite your style, is it, Melpomene?" Thalia paused for a moment to reflect on the question she had asked. "Who am I kidding? This is quite your style!”

Thalia's smile remained wide as she floated closer to Melpomene, her energy unshaken by the gloomy surroundings. She leaned in slightly, her voice turning playful but tinged with genuine affection.

"Come on, Melpomene, just one word. I promise I won’t ask where Terpsichore and Urania are," Thalia said with a teasing grin. She raised her hands in mock surrender, then added with a sarcastic tone, "Just between us, I never really liked them anyway."

Her voice softened a little as she continued, trying to coax her sister out of her silence, "But you—you I miss."

Melpomene remained silent.

Thalia decided to lighten the mood with one of her signature antics. She twirled in place with a sudden burst of energy, her form shifting in playful patterns as she began to dance around the darkened space. The dance was wild and carefree, full of exaggerated leaps and spins, her laughter echoing through the silent room. She even flung her arms wide as if inviting Melpomene to join in, but when Melpomene remained unmoving, Thalia didn’t mind. She danced alone, as she often did in the face of melancholy.

But as she spun, her feet betrayed her for just a moment. She slipped and stumbled, crashing to the ground with a soft thud. She let out a laugh, even though it was laced with a touch of self-mockery.

“Well, that was graceful," she said with a grin, lifting herself back up. Her smile faltered for a moment as she brushed off the dust from her shimmering form. "I haven’t quite been myself lately, Melpomene. I don’t know when it started—maybe it was when I was teasing Polyhymnia, and then..." She trailed off, a cloud of confusion crossing her usually playful expression.

Thalia’s eyes grew distant for a second, her thoughts unraveling as she tried to pinpoint the moment. “Yeah, I was poking fun at Polyhymnia, and then... it just hit me. Something changed, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Melpomene’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but sharp in the quiet of the prison. “Did you see a light?” she asked.

Thalia blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the question. She stopped fidgeting, her usual carefree demeanor faltering for just a moment. She thought carefully before responding, her voice quieter than usual.

“I didn’t see a light,” she said, her tone uncertain. “At least… I don’t remember seeing one. But maybe a part of me did. The part that feels like it’s missing.”

She let out a small, almost inaudible sigh. “But why did you ask? Did you see a light once?”

Melpomene didn't answer Thalia's question. Instead, she looked away. "Leave me for now," she said, her voice carrying an edge of finality. 

Disappointment clouded Thalia’s features. She began to turn away—until Melpomene’s voice caught her like a hook in the air.

"Wait," Melpomene said. Thalia turned back, her eyebrows raised in curiosity. Melpomene’s face softened, the usual hard lines of her expression giving way to something more vulnerable. “I… I’ve missed you too.”

Thalia smiled, her playful demeanor shifting for just a moment.

With a final nod, Thalia left, leaving Melpomene to her thoughts.

Melpomene searched her mind, tracing memories that felt both distant and painfully close, trying to uncover their meaning. She remembered running from the light as it consumed Hera's consciousness—an overwhelming force that seemed to pierce through her very being. And yet, a deeper part of her recognized that this wasn’t the first time she had encountered such a light—she just couldn’t remember when. The memory remained elusive, lingering at the edges of her thoughts like a shadow slipping away whenever she tried to grasp it.

Then, an old memory surfaced, vivid and bittersweet. Melpomene was cradling her firstborn, Leucosia, in her arms. The child was so small, her tiny fingers curled around Melpomene’s thumb, her eyes wide as if already absorbing the vastness of existence with a solemn curiosity. Melpomene felt a fierce protectiveness bloom within her, an unshakable connection to this delicate new life she had brought into the world.

Beside her, Thalia was holding her own child, Raidne, her face alight with joy and pride. Raidne was already fussing, her little arms waving about, and Thalia chuckled as she adjusted her hold, making faces to amuse her newborn.

“Oh, she has a mind of her own already,” Thalia remarked, beaming down at Raidne. “I can tell she’s going to be a handful—just like her mother.”

Melpomene glanced at Thalia with a small, soft smile. “And what’s wrong with that? It’s good to have a strong will.” She shifted Leucosia in her arms, feeling the gentle weight of her daughter, and softly brushed a finger over her tiny forehead.

Antioch, lounging nearby, watched them both with a curious, almost distant expression, as if studying something rare and precious. “Well, if they take after their mothers, the heavens will have to brace for quite the whirlwind,” he said.

Thalia smirked, glancing over at him. “Oh, don’t try to pretend you aren’t part of this, Antioch. These little ones have a bit of you in them too, whether we like it or not.”

Antioch gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “Ah, yes. The burden of knowing these young muses might inherit my charming mischief,” he said, feigning humility. “A heavy responsibility indeed.”

“Well, I suppose I should check on my other seven children,” Antioch said with a grin. “We wouldn’t want your sister muses to get jealous.”

He moved toward Thalia first, leaning down to kiss her. She smirked, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same. Then he turned to Melpomene, his expression more sensual as he brushed his lips across hers. Lastly, he knelt beside their daughters, placing a gentle kiss on each of their tiny heads.

With a final, lingering smile, he stepped back and gave them a nod before vanishing into the ethereal mist.

As the mist of Antioch's departure lingered, Melpomene's sense of peace began to crumble. A heavy, suffocating weight pressed against her chest, her heartbeat quickening with an unsettling rhythm. The air around them grew thick, and a foreboding chill crept through the ethereal space. It was as if something vast and ominous was approaching, something dark that she could not yet see, but could feel in the very fabric of her being.

Her gaze shifted instinctively to Leucosia, who was still nestled in her arms, the small, fragile form of her daughter seeming so vulnerable in the growing tension. A terrible sense of urgency gnawed at her. Something was coming—and it wasn’t good.

Thalia, still smiling and blissfully unaware of the shift in the atmosphere, looked up from her playful antics with Raidne. But the sudden sharpness in Melpomene’s expression made her pause.

“Thalia…” Melpomene’s voice was low, strained, and her hands tightened protectively around Leucosia. “Take the children. Go. Get them out of here.”

Thalia’s brow furrowed in confusion, her laughter dying on her lips. “What’s wrong? Melpomene, what—”

“There’s no time,” Melpomene cut in, her voice rising with urgency. “Take them far from here. There’s danger, something is coming. I can feel it. I need you to go now.” She gently placed Leucosia in Thalia’s arms, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision.

Thalia’s eyes searched her sister’s face, sensing the gravity in her words. “But what about you?”

Melpomene’s gaze was sharp, her eyes reflecting the calm determination that had always defined her, even in the face of danger. “I’ll hold it back. I’ll keep it at bay. Just go, Thalia. Please. I won’t let it get to them.”

Thalia hesitated for a moment, her maternal instincts at war with her own sense of loyalty. But seeing the fierce resolve in Melpomene’s eyes, she finally nodded. “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

With that, Thalia turned, her grip on both of their children tightening as she quickly moved toward the safety of the realm’s borders.

As they disappeared into the mist, Melpomene’s eyes remained fixed on the approaching shadow, her body tense as she prepared herself for whatever was coming, her protective love for her child burning bright within her.

Melpomene steeled herself for the worst, her body braced for a clash, her mind sharpened with the certainty that something dreadful was about to strike. She could feel the air vibrate with the tension of the oncoming danger, and her instincts screamed to protect her daughter, to keep her safe no matter the cost. She stood firm, ready to fight.

But when the threat finally emerged, it was nothing like she expected.

Instead of a dark shadow, the light that surrounded her was blindingly golden, warm and vibrant, seeping through the cracks of the mist. It was like the sun itself, but not harsh—it was soft, like the first rays of dawn after a long night. The brilliance was overwhelming, yet it wasn’t hostile. It didn’t burn or harm; it enveloped her with a profound, unfamiliar sense of peace.

The warmth spread through her, filling her chest with a calmness she had never known, like a balm for a wound she hadn’t even realized existed. It was as though the very essence of her being, the turmoil and the constant fight, melted away in the face of this light. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Melpomene felt whole, like the pieces of herself that had always been scattered and frayed were coming together.

She closed her eyes, feeling the golden light seep deeper into her soul, its energy like a lullaby for her spirit. It was both grounding and uplifting, both an end and a beginning. In that moment, she felt connected to everything—no longer distant or alone, but part of something greater.

The warmth deepened, and as it did, Melpomene realized she had no reason to fight it. This light was not something to hold back; it was a presence that, somehow, she had always known, even if it had taken this long for her to understand.

For the first time, she surrendered to it. Her defenses lowered, and she let the light consume her entirely. There was no resistance, no need for battle. There was only peace, a peace that filled the emptiness she had carried for so long.

The warmth of the light began to fade, the golden glow dissolving like mist in the morning sun. Melpomene felt a sudden shift, as though her very being had been pulled from that ethereal realm and thrust back into the cold, oppressive reality of her prison. The soft, nurturing light vanished completely, and she was left in the familiar darkness, the walls pressing in on her once more.

Her breath quickened as her senses returned, the harshness of her surroundings settling back into her skin like a cruel reminder of where she truly was. She was still the muse of tragedy, but for a fleeting moment, in that distant memory, she knew that she was so much more.